


Three Words

by Monocytogenes



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: F/M, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 02:16:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4901698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monocytogenes/pseuds/Monocytogenes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'I know,' Kristen says softly, a stray tear rolling down her cheek as she coughs a chuckle. 'I know.'"</p>
<p>Eddie and Kristen share a tender moment in the midst of tragedy. Spoilers for 02x02, "Knock Knock."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Words

The pain takes a moment to sink in.

Eddie crawls up from the floor, turning his body against the cold steel of the desk. At first his senses are occupied with the hammering of his heart, the gasping of his throat, and then his arm blossoms with white-hot agony. He twists his neck to look, his stomach clenching as he sees it—a small hole in his sleeve with a growing outline of blood.

A stream of images flashes through his mind, adrenaline-fueled: _entry wounds in discolored skin. Bullets, flattened and deformed, lodged in organs and bone. The explosion of gases and flame from a semi-automatic pistol—no, an assault rifle—in slow motion, casings soaring into the air, a trail of ballistic gelatin streaming like clouds—_

Kristen inches toward him, her bangs askew and features tight in distress. Her mouth moves, but he doesn’t quite process what she’s saying. Somewhere behind them, another barrage of shots echoes like the blast of a bomb. His hand clutches his bicep reflexively, warm wetness seeping between his fingers.

_—High velocity spatter striking a wall in a fine mist—_

A simultaneously flushed and clammy sensation spreads from his neck to his ears. His breath stutters, Kristen’s face blurring in and out of focus.

_—Skin lacerated, gaping open with clotted blood and adipose tissue golden and glistening—_

Her hand closes over his. He can barely feel the pressure amidst the screaming of his nerves, but somehow, it manages to bring his train of thought under a measure of control.

_Colored diagrams in a first aid manual: apply pressure and elevate the affected limb—_

“No,” he mutters to himself, shaking his head. Not yet, not when that’d catch the attention of their assailant. He shuts his eyes, struggling to call up better information. Hadn’t the department once held a training in—

_A page in a pamphlet: white background, blue text—_

“Find a hiding place out of the view of the active shooter,” he recites in a hoarse whisper. “Lock and blockade the door, get behind heavy furniture away from windows—”

Kristen stares at him, comprehension washing over her features. “I can lock the annex from the inside.”

He gives a jittery nod. She glances around, considering the distance to the room, then shifts to her hands and knees, her brow furrowing as she realizes that Eddie won’t be able to follow after her on his own. Scooting around to his right side, she gingerly lifts his injured arm and tucks it around her neck. The pain spikes and a moan escapes him. Her finger darts to her lips in warning.

Another cautious flick of her eyes, and she begins to crawl, as quickly as she can without tugging too much against his wound. Once, he feels the lightheadedness rise again, the room tilting and darkness fuzzing along the edges of his vision, and he bites his lip to ground himself. Time seems to drag, every movement fresh torture, until at last they make it to the annex door.

Kristen crouches, cranes her neck to make sure no one’s watching, and turns the handle. As the door swings open, Eddie musters up his strength and scrambles inside. Jumping to her feet, Kristen shuts it and bolts back and forth from her desk, keys jingling as she clicks the lock closed. Eddie watches as she shoves boxes of evidence off of a table and drags it in front of the entryway, its steel legs scraping against the linoleum.

“Okay,” she breathes. “We’re okay. We’re okay…”

Eddie staggers to his feet. Kristen rounds her desk, pulling out her chair and setting it behind a row of shelves.

“Here,” she says, helping him over to the seat. “You’re all pale. Do you feel like you’re going to pass out?”

Eddie looks at the bullet hole again and shrugs out of his jacket. Underneath, the short sleeve of his shirt is soaked in bright blood.

Kristen’s hand flies to her mouth. “Oh God.”

“Apply pressure and elevate the affected limb,” Eddie says quickly.

“Hold on.” Kristen pulls open her desk drawer, producing a wad of tissues, and returns to Eddie’s side, lifting his arm straight up and pressing them hard against the wound. Eddie watches as the redness begins to leach through and rolls up his sleeve, feeling around for his brachial artery and squeezing the spot tightly with his free hand.

“It’s...it’s not as bad as it appears,” he says. “An adult can lose about 750 milliliters of blood and still maintain adequate blood pressure through arterial constriction.”

“Just tell me if you start feeling woozy.” She lifts the wad slightly to examine the wound, then squeezes harder, wrapping her thumb around his arm.

“Will do. If that occurs you need to—”

“Have you lay down and put your legs up,” she says. “I know. I fainted a few times as a kid.”

She straightens, continuing to hold his arm in place. A few moments pass with the two of them listening for gunfire, voices shouting indistinctly beyond the door.

“This is awful,” Kristen says at length, her voice shaking. “Those innocent people. I’m—honestly, I’m angry. That a bunch of lunatics can just walk in here and—and—God, I could’ve died. You could’ve died.”

Eddie blinks up at her, unsure of what to say. Kristen looks at him, her eyes damp.

“Thank you,” she says.

“You’re welcome,” Eddie replies automatically. His mouth tips into a frown, and he eases his grip beneath his armpit, lifting his hand to brush her bangs from her eyes.

Her lips tremble.

“I—I—” he starts, and finds himself struggling to finish. “—What three words can lift hopes, dash loneliness and ease an aching heart?”

“I know,” Kristen says softly, a stray tear rolling down her cheek as she coughs a chuckle. “I know.”

She leans over, smoothing back his tousled hair, and presses her lips to his forehead. Eddie’s eyes flutter shut, the blood rushing to his face—this time, in a way that isn’t so unpleasant.

“You’re sweet, Edward,” she says. It occurs to him, absently, that he’s never heard her call him solely by his first name before.

He opens his eyes, his face breaking into a wide smile, and whispers, “Kristen.”

**Author's Note:**

> \-- [Here is what ballistic gelatin looks like.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ballistic_gelatin#/media/File:Aimed_Research_Sub-Microsecond_Photography_of_Federal_Power-Shok_100grn_.243.JPG) It's meant to approximate the thickness of human muscle tissue for studying the impact of ammunition.  
> \-- [Here's](http://www.thesurvivaldoctor.com/2012/07/26/gunshot-wounds/) a nice summary of first aid for a bullet wound.  
> \-- [Here's](http://www.dhs.gov/xlibrary/assets/active_shooter_booklet.pdf) some information on what to do in an active shooter situation.  
> \-- Eddie's "750 mL" statistic is drawn from the [four-stage classification system of shock.](http://www.uphs.upenn.edu/surgery/Education/trauma/SCCS/curriculum/Shock.pdf) Medically, shock is when someone's blood pressure drops (such as when they're bleeding out) and their tissues stop getting enough oxygen. First aid for shock includes having the person lay down and lift their legs because that helps promote blood flow to the head.


End file.
